Lilah

Edited: 5/17/2026

Getting ready for a date with Theo Nott should've been illegal.

Because there was no universe where someone that pretty—and that smug—deserved the satisfaction of me curling my lashes or debating lip gloss shades like I gave a damn.

I didn't.

Still, there I was. Half-dressed in front of my vanity mirror. Black jeans. Red top. Lipstick currently MIA. Hair... undecided.

As I ran my hands over my own curves, checking if the jeans fit just right, and adjusting the top flashes of earlier this evening came to mind;

He spun me—fast, rough—until my palms hit cold brick. I gasped, teeth gritting, breath catching.

My jeans were shoved down in one sharp, practiced tug. 

No hesitation. 

No asking.

"You want this?" he rasped against my ear, voice like gravel and war. "Out here? Like this?"

"Fuck. You," I snapped.

"Say please."

I turned just enough to glare at him, eyes narrowed, lips parted. "You're disgusting."

And then—God—he pressed in.

Skin to skin. 

Heat to heat. 

No space. 

No sanity.

I gasped again as he filled me—slow, deep, deliberate. 

Like punishment. Like a claim.

My hands splayed useless against the wall, nails scraping the brick as my head dropped forward, a strangled sound caught in my throat.

Fuck.

Fuck.

The way he moved—the way I clenched without meaning to, the way his hands gripped my waist like I belonged there—It wrecked me.

"This what you needed?" he hissed into my hair. "Is this why you've been mouthing off all day?"

I didn't answer.

I just rolled my hips back, sharp and cruel and precise—Right where I knew it'd make him curse.

His grip tightened. 

Brutal. Perfect.

And then he moved.

Hard. Fast. Filthy.

No tenderness. No buildup. Just venom and want and the fire we couldn't kill.

I bit my arm to muffle the sounds tearing out of me—raw, cracked, desperate. Every thrust hit like a grudge, like he was trying to fuck the fight out of me.

He wasn't winning.

He was feeding it.

"Still think Theo can handle you?" he growled.

I arched back into him, forcing another gasp out of both of us. "Still obsessed with him, Malfoy?"

He shoved deeper. I choked on air. A whimper escaped me—high, breathless, furious.

My body betrayed me. My pride screamed.

But I didn't stop.

I couldn't.

Because whatever this was—this sick, burning, possessive thing between us—

It didn't care about hate. It only wanted ruin.

And right now?

I wanted his.

I tilted my head at my reflection, attempting to shove the flashes out of my head. How I could still feel his grip, his lips, him...

An echo from downstairs completely pulled me back into reality

Knock knock knock.

Shit.

Theo was early.

Of course he was.

I tugged my door open and strained my hearing just enough to hear the front door creak open—followed by the unmistakable, drawling voice of my older brother.

"Ah. Theodore Nott. A bit early, aren't you?"

Pause.

Then Theo's voice, smooth as ever. "Evening, Marcus. You're looking... tall."

I pressed a hand to my face.

Here we go.

"Tall?" Marcus repeated, unimpressed. "That's the best you've got?"

"I debated 'intimidating,' but I figured you'd be tired of hearing that."

A beat.

Then Marcus, flatly: "Try me."

I was halfway through pulling on my boots when I heard Theo again.

"I'm here for Lilah."

"Unfortunately, I gathered that."

"Is there... a problem?"

"Only that she's still upstairs, and I'm stuck playing gatekeeper to a Slytherin Casanova with a reputation worse than a Hippogriff in a teacup shop."

"Oh, come on," Theo said, all mock offense. "That's not fair to Hippogriffs. I at least ask permission before I bite."

"I've seen your permission forms, Nott," Marcus shot back. "They're verbal. Vague. And usually slurred."

I snorted.

Theo chuckled. "So you have heard of me."

"Yes. And if you touch my sister the wrong way, the next time you're spotted at a gala, you'll be missing at least one limb."

"Which one?"

"Dealer's choice."

I was grinning now, silently creeping toward the stairwell like the world's most entertained voyeur.

"I respect the protectiveness," Theo said smoothly. "Truly. Very knightly. But I assure you, I'm not here to—"

"—Defile, corrupt, ruin, charm, or otherwise dismantle my little sister's last shred of innocence?" Marcus cut in. "Because let's be honest, Nott. That's your brand."

Theo whistled, low and amused. "You really don't like me."

Marcus's voice dropped. "You're lucky I like Lilah. Otherwise you'd be hexed so thoroughly your own mirror wouldn't recognize you."

"I'm flattered. She talks about me, then?" Theo asked.

Marcus didn't miss a beat. "Only when she's plotting your downfall."

"Romantic," Theo said smoothly.

I smirked at my reflection in the hall mirror.

The conversation floated up the stairs, all barbs and bravado, just loud enough to hear as I uncapped my lipstick—the same wicked red I'd worn at the gala. Bold, dangerous and designed to stain.

I swiped it on in one practiced motion. 

Quick. Clean. War paint.

No way was I letting my brother out-intimidate my date and delay my entrance. Tossing the tube aside, through my doorway and letting it softly land on my bed, I stepped onto the top stair, arms crossed, voice sweet as sin.

"You two done measuring wands?" I called down.

Two heads snapped up.

Marcus looked exasperated. Theo looked like Christmas came early.

And me? I looked like trouble on purpose.

"I'm just reminding your date that I know how to make bodies disappear," Marcus said.

Theo winked at me. "And I'm just letting your brother know I'm immune to idle threats and deeply charmed by dangerous women."

"Perfect," I said, descending slowly, letting my boots thump on the steps just enough to be heard. "Now if you're both done pretending this isn't weird, I'd like to go ruin my reputation in peace."

Marcus muttered something under his breath about goddamn Gryffindor instincts and hormone-fueled disasters, but stepped aside with the dramatic sigh of a man truly resigned to being a sibling.

Theo offered me his arm like we were at a bloody ballroom.

I didn't take it.

But I did smirk. "Ready?"

He smirked right back. "Was born ready."

From behind us, Marcus grumbled, "You were born a menace."

Theo didn't even flinch. "A charming one."

And as we walked down the steps, I caught the faintest trace of Marcus's final muttered threat:

"Touch her the wrong way and I'll curse your bollocks to sing opera for the rest of your life."

Theo looked far too delighted.

And me? I hadn't even made it out the door, and already the night was promising chaos.

The grass was still warm beneath us, holding onto the last bit of summer sun like it didn't want to let go.

Above us, the sky stretched wide and dark—clear, for once. Not a single cloud. Just the sharp glitter of stars against endless black, like someone had spilled diamonds across a velvet table.

"Okay," I said, picking at a piece of honey-roasted chicken with one hand, propping myself up on the other. "I'll give you this. You actually picked a solid spot."

Theo smirked, flat on his back beside me, arms folded behind his head like he was posing for a Renaissance painting titled 'Smug Idiot Under the Cosmos.'

"I always pick solid spots," he said.

"You're insufferable."

"And yet, here you are."

I stabbed a grape with unnecessary force. "Still trying to decide if saying yes to this was a temporary lapse in judgment... or a sign I've finally lost the plot."

Theo chuckled low in his throat, smug as ever. "You're not giving yourself enough credit. You held out for a full ten minutes."

I popped the grape into my mouth. "You were annoying."

"I was persistent."

"You whined."

"I bantered."

"You bribed me with fizzing cherry scones."

He shot me a look. "And they were excellent. You nearly cracked at the second bite."

I raised a brow. "You bribed me with pastries and relentless flirtation in a public workspace while I was on the clock."

"And yet," he said, lifting a hand dramatically, "here you are. In the moonlight. With me. On what some might even call a date."

"Some might call it community service," I muttered, reaching for another strawberry.

Theo rolled onto his side, chin propped on his palm.

"I knew you saw me come back to the shop."

"Hard not to notice," I said dryly. "You practically danced through the floo like you'd just discovered your own reflection."

"I was trying to be charming."

"You were trying to get under my skin."

"Same thing."

I gave him a flat look. "You asked me out three times in ten minutes."

"And you said no all three."

"Which should've been your answer."

"Instead," he said, unbothered, "I rephrased, leaned against the counter like a heartthrob in a third-rate romance novel, and asked again."

"With a wink."

"With two winks."

"And a grin I'm certain you stole from a toothpaste ad."

"You cracked."

I glared. "I got bored."

"You said, and I quote, 'Fine, if it'll shut you up.'"

"Not my proudest moment."

"It's in my top five."

I fought a smile. He saw it. Of course he did.

"I hate you," I said.

"Can't blame you," he replied. "I'm stunning and relentless."

"And insufferable."

"And yet, still winning."

"You're delusional."

He winked again, shameless. "You like that about me."

I leaned back on my elbows, staring up at the stars. "I like the quiet."

"You like the way I talk over it."

I rolled my eyes. "Please stop trying to be poetic. You're wearing dragonhide boots and probably have glitter in your pocket from a cursed girl's bathroom."

"I do," he said, without missing a beat. "And I regret nothing."

I glanced sideways at him, squinting. "Alright, then. Riddle me this, Nott."

He looked far too pleased. "Riddle away."

"Why the sudden interest?"

For a second, the banter paused.

Not died.

Just... quieted.

He reached for a piece of bread, ripped it in half with casual fingers. Didn't meet my eyes. "You know why," he said finally. "You saw me watching."

I stayed silent.

He offered me half the bread anyway.

I hesitated but tugged it free from his grip before he broke the silence, voice low but unbothered.

"You know, I used to find you completely unbearable."

I arched my brow, chewing slowly. "Used to?"

"You were loud. Opinionated. Gryffindor." He popped a piece of bread into his mouth. "And that surname of yours didn't help."

"Wow," I said. "So basically, you hated me for existing."

"I didn't hate you," he said easily. "I just... conveniently avoided being within five feet of your orbit. For my own sanity."

"How noble."

"But today?" He leaned back on one arm, eyes flicking over to me. "Got up close. Watched you work. Heard you insult Malfoy to his face without blinking. Watched you tear through customers like a Veela on espresso."

"And that's what did it for you?" I asked, dry. "The customer service rage?"

He smirked. "Something like that."

I eyed him. "You're not being charming, Theo."

"I'm not trying to be," he said simply. "I just realized I didn't actually know you. Not really. I had a version of you in my head that fit the Slytherin narrative—Malfoy's annoying rival, Marcus King's little sister, the walking headache in red and gold."

"And now?"

"Now I think you might be more dangerous than I gave you credit for."

I blinked, lips twitching. "Dangerous?"

"You agreed to this date out of spite. You're not eating the strawberries because you don't trust me. And you brought your wand even though we're alone in the middle of a park with a picnic blanket."

"I always bring my wand."

"My point exactly."

I snatched a grape from the container and popped it into my mouth to avoid smiling. "You're observant. That's horrifying."

"I'm a Slytherin. We collect data."

"Like little spies."

"Like intelligent survivors." He leaned toward me just slightly. "Besides... you didn't say I was wrong."

"I didn't say you were right either."

He sighed dramatically and flopped onto his back. "Godric save me, you're exhausting."

"You're not the first Slytherin who's said that." I tilted my head. "Although you might be the first who's said it with an actual smile instead of a hex."

He peeked up at me. "Don't tempt me. I've still got a Stunning Spell with your name on it."

"I dare you to try." I tossed a grape at his forehead. "You'd miss."

"I wouldn't," he muttered, rubbing his temple like I'd injured him. "But fine. Truce. For now."

He sat up again, leaned forward like he was gearing up to try something. His fingers tapped absently on the side of the tin.

"You know," he said slowly, "if I had a Galleon for every time I saw a star as bright as your eyes—"

"Oh my god," I groaned. "Stop."

Theo blinked. "What?"

"'If I had a Galleon for every time I saw a star as bright as your eyes'?" I mimicked, making a gagging sound. "Did you get that from a knockoff chocolate frog wrapper?"

He looked deeply offended. "It's classic!"

"It's tragic."

"Okay, okay," he said, holding up a hand. "Try this one: Are you a Bludger? Because you just knocked the wind out of me."

I stared at him. Deadpan.

He waited.

"I—Theo, what is wrong with you?"

"I'm trying to be sweet!"

"You're trying to give me secondhand embarrassment."

He groaned and fell back into the grass again. "Merlin, you are so difficult."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

"It's not," he muttered, clearly not expecting me to hear.

But I did.

And maybe my face got a little warm. Not that I'd admit it.

Not even under Veritaserum.

"So," he said, sitting up again, brushing grass from his shirt. "If we're not going to snog under the stars—rude, by the way—maybe you can finally answer something I've always wondered."

I narrowed my eyes. "If this is another pickup line—"

"It's not," he promised. "I'm genuinely curious. Why the hell aren't you on the Gryffindor Quidditch team?"

That made me pause. I looked at him for a moment—really looked at him—and saw no mockery, no angle, just honest confusion.

"Because it's Marcus' thing," I said finally, voice quieter than I meant. "Always has been."

"Right, but you're good. I've seen you fly."

"Doesn't matter," I said, my eyes never leaving the picnic blanket we were sitting on. "He made the league. The headlines. The covers. King of the pitch, literally."

Theo nodded slowly. "And what—you're just supposed to sit back and wave little banners?"

"Pretty much," I said. "Plus, Mum thinks it's unladylike. Too many bruises."

"That's the point of the game."

"Tell her that."

"I would," Theo muttered, then looked at me again—really looked, like he was trying to solve a riddle written in red lipstick and sarcasm. "You could make the Slytherin team in ten minutes."

I raised a brow. "That a compliment?"

"That's a fact," he said. "Even if it'd absolutely throw our house politics into chaos."

"You just want me on your team so you can stare at my arse while I fly."

"I mean—" he started, then caught himself. "...No."

I laughed—actually laughed—and Theo looked weirdly pleased about it, like he hadn't expected to get that sound out of me.

And maybe I hadn't expected it either.

Because sitting there under the stars with Theo Nott of all people, I suddenly realized—I was having a good time.

And it terrified me. Almost as much as it thrilled me.

"See, you don't need those cheesy lines Nott," I smirked, playfully hitting his arm. "Just be you..."

Theo just smiled back, looking as if his shoulders had finally dropped from the tension.

Dinner wrapped up with stolen strawberries, another attempted pickup line Theo didn't even get to finish, and a long debate over whether or not broom duels should be a sanctioned sport (Theo was for, obviously. I told him that explained a lot about his brain damage).

Afterward, we wandered the park for hours—half aimless, half intentional—feet crunching on uncut grass, voices echoing softly through the trees.

The stars stayed out for us.

So did the laughter.

"Okay," Theo said at one point, nudging me with his shoulder. "Be honest. You think I'd survive a dinner alone with your mum?"

"Absolutely not," I said without hesitation.

He clutched his chest. "Brutal."

"You'd make it halfway through a salad before accidentally implying she has 'resting superiority complex.'"

"...Okay, fair."

"She once scolded my cousin for holding his wand wrong during prayer."

"Yeah, no—I'd be hexed."

I bumped him with my elbow. "But Marcus is worse."

"Oh, don't worry," he said, voice mock-serious. "Your brother already threatened my lineage before you even came downstairs."

"Classic Marcus."

"He glared at me like I'd taken a vow of stupidity just by existing."

"You kind of did," I teased.

Theo grinned and slid his arm across my shoulders, casual—but not really. His palm brushed the back of my neck, warm and steady.

I let him, which might've been the most dangerous choice I'd made all day.

"You know," he said after a minute, quieter now, "I didn't think I'd like this."

I tilted my head. "Me?"

"This," he said. "Us. Talking. Not bickering over Potions ingredients or who hexed whose cauldron in fourth year."

"That was your fault, by the way."

"You still can't prove that."

"I still have the melted shoes."

He laughed. And it was real this time, it wasn't flirty or strategic. Just warm and boyish and frustratingly charming.

The sidewalk curved toward my neighborhood, and we slowed at the top of the drive. The porch light was on, but the front windows were dark.

His hand dropped from my shoulders—but not before skimming my spine.

"You gonna survive the Marcus interrogation?" I asked.

"Doubt it," he said. "I've already written my will."

"Let me guess—everything goes to Blaise."

"Only the hair products. You get the broomstick."

I snorted. "How generous."

We stopped just shy of my steps. The night suddenly got quieter, like even the wind was waiting to see what would happen next.

Theo stepped a little closer. Not rushed, not pushing. 

Just... there.

Close enough to smell the remnants of whatever cologne he'd picked—mildly illegal, probably. His eyes flicked down to my mouth then back to my eyes.

"You're a menace, Lilah King," he said, voice low.

"You're the one who dragged me into a park."

"Best decision I made all week." 

And then—just like that—he kissed me. Slow, at first, testing. A brush of heat against heat. Lips warm, mouth sure. Then— My fingers curled in his shirt.

His hand settled on my hip. And it almost—almost—spiraled. But just before it could, something cut through.

A flash.

Draco's mouth on mine.

In my bed. That alley wall at my back.

The way he tasted like sin and salt and something I never should've wanted.

I blinked.

Hard.

And pulled back.

Breath caught, my face flushed as my stomach twisted with something too messy to name.

Theo blinked. "Too soon?"

"Too tempting," I said, brushing my fingers against his collar. "And I like my self-control intact, thanks."

He smiled—smug, crooked, and too damn pleased. Then his brows lifted slightly, like something just clicked. He leaned in again—not to kiss me, but to breathe in.

Low.

Curious.

"What is that?" he murmured, nose grazing just below my jaw. "Your perfume."

I blinked while arching my brow. "Why?"

He leaned back a fraction, eyes narrowed. "It's... familiar."

Something fluttered in my chest—and not in a good way.

"Expensive," I said, shrugging like it was nothing. "Rare. You wouldn't know it—I'd assume."

There was a beat. His eyes still on me. Then I sighed, a little too heavy. "It's cloves... and a lavender-vanilla mix. Or something close. I like it. You probably smelled it in a Potions lab or some overpriced designer's shop window."

I shrugged again—casual, like it didn't mean anything.

"Maybe." His gaze lingered—longer than it should've. "Still. It's stuck in my head."

"That's the point," My lips twitched. "That your new pickup line, now?"

"Just a fact."

"Well," I said, stepping toward the door, "try not to let it haunt your dreams."

He let out a soft laugh, like he'd been holding his breath. Exhaled slow, like he was trying to shake something loose. "Does that mean I get another shot?"

I didn't say yes.

Didn't say no, either.

I just backed up the steps, one brow arched.

"If you survive Marcus?" I said. "Maybe."

He groaned like I'd just handed him a death sentence. "Challenge accepted."

And then I slipped through the door—heartbeat a little too fast, mouth still tingling, and that scent—his scent—still clinging to my skin like a dare. I toed off my boots at the front rug, flexing my feet with a groan before padding toward the stairs.

Halfway up, a doorway creaked open off the hall.

Marcus stood there in plaid pajama pants, hair a mess, clutching a bowl of popcorn like a judgmental sitcom dad.

"Well?" he said, crunching loudly. "Did Theo Nott try to propose? Or cry?"

I didn't break stride. "He did both. I said no to the ring and yes to the trauma."

Marcus made a mock-wounded noise. "Poor bloke."

"He'll recover."

"Doubt it," he said, stepping out with his bowl like he lived for this post-date rundown. "You are the only known Gryffindor with venom glands."

I grinned over my shoulder. "Says the Slytherin who screamed when Mum moved his broomstick."

"That was years ago—"

"It was last summer."

He scowled and shoved another handful of popcorn in his mouth. "Whatever. Just came out to tell you the house is yours for the week."

I paused. "What?"

"Mum and Dad got roped into some Ministry thing—London politics, schmoozing, fundraising. All that posh crap."

"They're leaving us unsupervised?"

"They're leaving you unsupervised. I'm practically a saint."

I snorted. "You lit your sheets on fire trying to make a hot toddy."

"Science," he corrected. "Anyway, you're on your own for food. No summoning me for leftovers. No crying when you burn toast."

"Wow," I said, dragging a hand up the banister. "This is how you treat your baby sister when our parents abandon us?"

Marcus crunched another bite. "Also, if you die up there, I'm not cleaning it up."

I blinked. "What?"

"There was a thud from up there earlier," he said casually. "Figured if it was an intruder, they would have started digging through the safe under my bed that's full of fool's gold and golden chocolate coins—but I didn't hear anything after that."

"You didn't check it out?"

He raised both brows, smirking. "Someone told me I was banned from entering her royal Gryffindor chambers."

I growled, throwing a random throw pillow—that Mum insisted was decor and taste—off the stairs at him from the steps. "Tosser."

He dodged with ease and waved me off like the dramatic sibling he was. "Sleep tight, Your Majesty."

I rolled my eyes and continued upstairs.

My room was dimly lit—curtains drawn, moonlight bleeding in through the slats. Everything looked normal. Still and quiet.

Until I opened the door fully.

And there—lying dead center in my bed like he owned it—was Draco bloody Malfoy. Hands behind his head with his shirt unbuttoned and a smug smirk like he'd been waiting.

"Hope your little picnic was worth it," he drawled. "Because now we need to talk."

My jaw dropped, "Are you insane?!"

He grinned wider. "Only for you, sweetheart."

I growled, shoving my door shut and crossing my arms. "What the hell are you doing in my room?"

"Waiting."

"For what? Permission to be a stalker?"

He propped himself up on one elbow, hair slightly tousled like he'd been here comfortably for a while. "You and Theo looked cozy earlier."

I blinked. "Seriously? You broke into my house because I went on a date?"

"Not just a date," he said coolly, gaze flicking up and down like he was cataloguing every inch of me. "You went on a date with my mate. A Day after we fucked, then Hours after we fucked again behind a building."

I scoffed. "Are you jealous?"

He didn't flinch. "I'm pissed."

I walked to my desk, grabbing a hair tie, not looking at him. "We're not together, Malfoy."

"Didn't say we were."

"So why are you acting like I cheated on you?"

"Because you didn't mention it," he snapped, sitting all the way up now. "Not once. Not before. Not after. Like it didn't mean anything."

I turned to face him fully. "And what if it didn't?"

His eyes flared. "You're lying."

"I'm not anyone's, Malfoy," I said, sharp now. "I'm not with anyone. And you don't own me."

He stood from the bed, crossing the room like he wanted to argue—but didn't quite know how to win this one. "That's not the point. You knew it would mess with his head. And mine."

"Yeah, if he found out about us..." I choked on a laugh shaking my head at his tense posture. "Merlin forbid the Malfoy heir lose sleep over the girl he claims to hate."

"You drive me insane," he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. "You always have."

"Good," I said, turning my back and walking toward the bathroom. "Keep suffering."

He followed, of course. "So this is it? You just get to play both sides? Use me like a stress reliever and then giggle your way into Theo's arms?"

I paused in the bathroom doorway, one hand on the knob.

"I didn't use you," I said, gaze sharp. "I enjoyed you."

His breath hitched.

I leaned against the frame, head cocked, voice almost bored. "Besides, I didn't think it meant anything. We hate each other, remember? It was just... good sex."

Malfoy tensed—shoulders drawn, hands curled like he needed something to hold onto. Anything but me.

I smiled. "Unless you're telling me it was more? That you want to do this regularly?" I leaned in slightly, lips quirking. "What, we make it official? Friends with benefits? With a 'no shagging others' clause written in?"

The muscle in his jaw ticked.

"That's not funny," he growled.

"Oh, I think it's hilarious," I smiled, brushing some imaginary lint off his shoulder before turning from him to move toward the bathroom.

But I didn't make it far. His hand shot out—grabbing my wrist, gently but firm enough to make my breath catch—and then he was walking me backward, step by slow step, into the bathroom.

My heart jumped. 

My skin buzzed.

He shut the door behind us with a soft, deliberate click.

And then—without warning—he gripped my hips and lifted me like I weighed nothing, like he'd done it a hundred times before, and set me on the cool marble counter.

His hands didn't leave me.

Neither did his eyes.

"What are you doing?" I asked, breath a little thinner now.

He stepped between my legs, palms splayed against my thighs. "You don't get to poke at me, laugh in my face, and then walk away like you didn't wreck me."

I blinked. "Oh, so this is revenge?"

"No," he murmured, lowering his mouth near my ear, voice a dark drawl. "This is reminding."

My stomach flipped. 

My pulse kicked hard.

He kissed the corner of my jaw, so fucking slow and deliberate.

And then—he grinned.

"You know, for someone so mouthy," he said, fingers skimming the waistband of my jeans, "you go awfully quiet when I'm kneeling between your legs."

"Maybe I'm just bored," I shot back, even as my breath betrayed me.

He smirked, hands slipping over my hips, thumbs brushing beneath the hem. "Sure you are."

Then—without breaking eye contact—he dragged my jeans down, slow and wicked, like he was unwrapping a secret he'd already memorized.

"You wore these on your date with Theo?" he asked casually, tossing the denim aside.

I didn't answer. I couldn't, not when his hands were already sliding higher again.

"I should be offended," he mused, fingers hooking the edge of my knickers now, "but they're better on the floor anyway."

"Malfoy—"

"You keep saying my name like it'll stop me."

And then he dropped to his knees.

Right there, in front of me. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

My hands curled in his hair the moment his mouth found me—hot, unrelenting, and sinfully skilled. My head hit the mirror behind me with a dull thud, breath catching hard in my throat as pleasure rolled up my spine like a tidal wave.

I bit my lip as I fought it, but I moaned through my teeth. And for one long, suspended second—my entire body exhaled. Like it had been holding its breath since the moment he walked into my room.

Since the moment this mess started.

I hated him. 

God, I hated him.

But my hips rolled into his mouth like they were starved.

My fingers fisted tighter in his hair. And my heart—traitorous, reckless thing—slammed against my ribs like it was grateful.

Because this wasn't just release.

It was relief.

An explosion I hadn't let myself have.

A storm I couldn't stop.

Because this? This wasn't hate. This wasn't even war.

This was surrender. And I didn't stand a chance.

His mouth didn't stop. Not until my legs were trembling, breath was shattered, and my nails were half-moon scars across his shoulders.

And when he finally stood again, lips wet, eyes darker than sin—I dragged him into me.

Hard.

We crashed together like lightning on water. Mouths open, teeth clashing, hands everywhere. I kissed him like I meant to brand him. He kissed me like he meant to ruin me.

The air between us crackled—hot, humid, reckless.

"I need a shower," I gasped against his mouth.

He smirked, lips ghosting over my jaw. "Funny. I was just thinking the same thing."

We didn't speak.

Not when I slid off the counter, legs still shaky. Not when his hands caught my waist again, steadying me like he liked the way I stumbled.

We were still kissing—hot and unfiltered—as I backed him toward the shower. He pressed me against the sink once more, dragging his mouth down my throat like he wasn't done. Like he'd never be done.

The back and forth didn't last long enough, but I pulled away just enough to reach for the tap in the tub. I twisted the water on and the steam roared to life in seconds, fogging the mirror behind us, curling around our bodies like smoke—thick, heavy, waiting.

"I need to lock the door," I murmured, breath ghosting his jaw as he tugged my shirt off over my head.

"Someone worried about being walked in on?" he taunted, lips brushing mine.

I shot him a look—then turned, slipping through the fog and across my bedroom. In a lacy bra and no knickers and flicked the lock shut behind me. Then turned back toward the steam-drenched bathroom—where he waited.

Still here.

Still watching me like I was gravity itself.

And then we were on each other again.

Stumbling back into the bathroom, slick with want and something far more dangerous. The remaining clothes were gone, skin burning. The air was thick with heat and magic and us.

We stepped under the spray—together.

His hands slid around my waist. Mine gripped his shoulders. And when our mouths met again, it wasn't gentle. It wasn't soft.

It was soaked and starving, like we'd die if we stopped.

Water cascaded over us, steam swallowing the room whole. His lips never left mine—not until I tilted my head back and let the shower drown out everything but him.

Not until there was nothing left but skin on skin, heartbeat on heartbeat.

Enemies. 

Addicted. 

Breathing fire into the cold tile and fogged glass.

And for one wild, aching night? I didn't care, because he was still here.

And so was I.

Drenched in sin, wrapped in need, and falling faster than I ever meant to.